









^^^^^ 







LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf. ^:5..t-t.'^^ 

13S4, 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



1888 



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A MOTHER'S SONG 



BY 



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n. MARY D: BRINE 



AUTHOR OF "STORIES GRANDMA TOLD," " MERRY GO-ROUND," 

"FROM GOLD TO GREY," "PAPA'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS 

SERIES," ETC., ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

MISS C. A. NORTHAM 




CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited 

739 & 741 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 






Copyright, 1886, 
By O. M. DUNHAM. 

A U rights reserved. 



FREBS OF HUNTER & BEACH, 
NEW YORK. 



TO OUR FRIEND 

MRS. GEORGE ROLAND. 



I am sitting at my window ; oh, the world is passing fair 

As I look at it this morning 

In its new, spring-tide adorning. 
And watch a sun-framed picture as I breathe the scented 
air 

Which from daisied fields is drifting 

Under smiling skies above. 

Now and then the soft curls lifting 

On a little brow I love. 



From the tree-top sings the robin in the orchard near at 
hand. 

Where 'neath boughs all blossom-laden 

My winsome blue-eyed maiden, 
With her dimpled face uplifted to the blossoms likes to 
stand, 

While the pink and white spring treasures 

Spread their dainty shimmering sheen 

My little love's bright beauty 

And the tender skies between. 



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Is she watching for the fairies which, we told her, come 
with spring 

To set the trees a-glowing 

With the pretty blossoms blowing, 
And to teach the robin red-breast his sweet songs to 
sing ? 

Ah, the robin can not tell her 

Where the fairies may have flown, 

But he knows no sweeter blossom 

Blooms — than that I call my own. 



Not long since from this same window I gazed on fields 
of snow, 

Where the barren trees bore only 

On their tossing limbs so lonely — 
The memory of a beauty, winter-banished long ago. 

E'en my heart was chilled and dreary ; 

I was worn with wild unrest, 

All so languid and so weary 

Lay the blossom on my breast — 



Which a glad spring-time had brought me from a land 
most fair and sweet. 

As I longed, with arras upreaching, 

For the gentle, holy teaching 
Learned by clasping baby fingers, and by guiding baby 
feet. 

But the winter winds were cruel, 

And my blossom was so frail. 

And when came the white, white snow-drifts, 

Baby's cheek grew wan and pale. 



Sweetest songs, they say, are surely those which hold a 
minor key. 

And no life is perfect ever — 

So say wise men — which is never 
Touched by sorrow's cloud whatever the fair morning's 
promise be. 

So I pondered in my grieving, 

As the weary days went by, 

Till the first blue violet wakened 

Underneath a spring-tide sk}'. 



Then I knew the rod uphfted o'er my droophig head so 
long 

Had been lowered, and confessing 
All the wondrous love and blessing, 

With the earth's new jubilate all my heart broke out in 
song. 

So we watched — we watched together, 
As the days in beauty grew, 
And each sunbeam seemed reflected 
In the baby eyes so blue. 







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And as now I watch my darling in the orchard there at 
play, 

Surely life to me seems sweeter. 

And its sacred trust completer 
For the minor chords of sorrow which the spring-time 
took away. 

And I lay a silent blessing 

On the wings of each sweet breeze 

As it goes to kiss the forehead 

Of mv blossom 'mongst the trees. 



Under the hedge the June roses blow, 

Red June roses — all in a row. 

Under the roses a dear little face, 

Where dimples and smiles leave many a trace, 

" Rosebud " and roses all blooming together — 

Out in the shine of the sweet June weather. 



Gayly the robin his morning song sings, 
Pluming and stretching his feathers and wings ; 
Swiftly the bee seeks the charms of the clover 
While sunshine is spreading the green meadow over. 
Oh, many the beautiful things that I see ! 
But fairest of all things is baby to me ! 



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Two little hands I see, twining the roses 

With daisies and buttercups, nature's sweet posies. 

AVeaving a garland as bright as can be 

For baby's mamma ! 'Tis a secret, you see — 

But a yellow young butterfly dancing this way 

Told some one the secret of baby's, to-day. 



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Under the hedge where the June roses blow, 
Nods the white sun-bonnet — to-and-fro. 
Under the sun-bonnet laughing I see 
Merry young eyes throwing glances at me, 
And little plump fingers toss kisses to meet 
The message I send those sweet kisses to greet. 



And now, o'er the roses so fragrant, so red — 
My darling bows low, and yet lower her head. 
And close to the glow of her warm, dimpling face, 
She crushes their beauty with sweet baby grace. 
Inhaling and holding within her own heart 
The perfume from theirs of which she is a part. 



Oh, fragrant June roses ! not sweeter are ye 
Than the rosebud the Father hath given to me ! 
God grant she may grow 'neath the sunshine of love 
Into all that is pure for the garden above. 
Her dear heart be guarded from evil's sad power, 
Till the bud blossoms out in the full, perfect flower. 



Chasing the butterflies over the meadow, 

Saw I my baby a short while ago; 
In grasses as high as her head she was playing 

At hide and at seek from the sunshine's warm glow 
Filling her apron with sweet-scented clover, 

Pausing to look at the wild honey bee, 
Calling the birdies that soared far above her — 

Thus has my little one wandered from me. 




Butterflies, butterflies, where is your playmate ? 

High, nodding grasses, oh, where did she run ? 
Poor, wilted clovers ! which way did she wander 

After she dropped you to die in the sun ? 
Honey bee, honey bee, pause from your duties. 

Pray did you frighten my blossom away — 
Thinking to steal from her red mouth more sweetness 

Than can be gathered from flowers each day ? 






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Birdies, oh birds, that go skimming and soaring 

Far overhead, did you bear my wee love 
On your swift wings to the city of cloudland — 

Up to the azure skies shining above ? 
Sunbeams and shadows spread over the meadows ; 

Pretty wild flowers bloom here and bloom there ; 
Sweet summer peace o'er the landscape is brooding 

Surely my baby is safe in their care. 




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Hark ! what is that which the summer breeze brings me 

As I stand Ustening ? It is the sweet voice 
Which in its merriment gleefully ringing, 

Makes all the mother-love in me rejoice. 
Yonder I see her, my own straying lammie. 

Sun-kissed, and breeze-blown ; the bright tangled 
curls 
Crowned with the blossoms and leaves she has gathered. 

This queen of all blossoms, my dearest of girls ! 



And who tore the pretty white dress ? Ah, the bushes 
Are hfting their blossom-wreathed arms in dehght, 
And proudly exclaim, " Who could blame us for catch- 
ing 
And holding, for love, the wee darling so bright, 
As she tripped on her way o'er the fields ? " And the 
breezes 
Come rustling and whispering, " JFe tangled her 
hair ! " 
And the sunbeams come dancing //u-/r mischief confess- 
ing— 
" JFc browned with our kisses the soft cheek so fair." 



So now in my arms do I lift the small maiden 

So ragged and wear)- ; and bear her safe home. 
For the twilight advances this way, and my baby 

Adown the soft valley of dreamland must roam. 
Good-by to the sunbeams, the breeze, and the bushes, 

Good-by to the butterflies, birdies and bees ; 
Good-by to the poor faded clovers and blossoms 

Let evening her lullaby sing in the trees. 




Oh, the shadows are gathering so fast, so fast ! 
The beautiful daytuiie is hiding at last, 
And up in the skies 
Stars of silver and gold, 
Are watching all lambkins 
So safe in the fold. 

Comes also a message with coming of night ; 
A message from Slumberland : Blue eyes so bright 
Grow drowsy and heavy, a wee, golden head 
Half nodding — should surely be ready for bed. 
And for lullaby— O ! 



But all so reluctant from playtime to part 
My baby for Slumberland cannot yet start. 
She must bid a good-night 
To her treasures, each one 
Ere she's willing to rest 
From day's frolic and fun. 

She must croon her sweet language to dolly awhile, 
Her young face aglow with its dimples and smile, 
As she sits like a queen midst her toys on the floor, 
"While the message from Slumberland cometh once more 
With its lullaby— O ! 




Now deeper and deeper the shadows have grown ; 
The last sleepy bird to its snug nest has flown ! 
And baby looks out 
At the fields, as they lie 
All lonely and still 
'Neath the star-lighted sky. 
And sleepily murmurs a plaintive good-night 
To her favorite meadows, now hidden from sight. 
And wonders, perhaps, where the merry bright day. 
With her playmates, the daisies, have hidden away — 
With lullaby— O ! 



And now she has hfted her dear arms to me, 
So tired, and ready for Slumberland she ! 
I nestle the sweet golden head on my breast, 
And chant with a lullaby gently to rest 
The baby whose presence makes sunshine too bright 
To be hidden from mc e'en by shadows of night. 
And the dream-angel comes from the starlight to woo 
The spirit of sleep to the baby-eyes blue, 
By lullaby— O ! 



Now wandering in the land of dreams 

My little one 
Will heed no more her mother's care 

Till night is done. 
May heaven guard her thro' the night, 
While shine the stars so calm, so bright ! 
And with the morning's gladsome light 

And joyous sun — 
Give back again to my fond care 
My spring-time blossom — sweet and fair. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 861 997 





